


Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown

by Mookie



Series: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas [3]
Category: Peanuts
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1198581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mookie/pseuds/Mookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one in their right mind used paper cups instead of plastic, but she wasn't surprised that this party lacked such an obvious staple. The party was thrown by the same blockhead that served toast and popcorn for Thanksgiving. </p><p> </p><p>Takes place a little over a year after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1157572">Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown

She took a sip from the cup she held, more because it was there than to quench her thirst. Truthfully, she just wanted to be rid of the darn thing before the water soaked completely through the softening paper and ruined her dress. No one in their right mind used paper cups instead of plastic, but she wasn't surprised that this party lacked such an obvious staple. The party was thrown by the same blockhead that served toast and popcorn for Thanksgiving. 

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. At least she'd been spared that disaster. Patty had been the one to let Charlie Brown know just how abysmal his attempts at hosting a party were.

She glanced around the room. She hadn't seen Patty at all this evening, nor her erstwhile shadow. Marcy was supposed to be with her family, visiting a grandmother or aunt or second cousin once removed or something. At least she thought that's what Linus told her. For the amount of attention she'd paid at the time, it could have just as easily been Franklin. There was really only one name she'd been interested in hearing him mention, and it was the one name he went out of his way to avoid saying in her presence. Or over the phone, as the case had been the past few months.

Lucy hadn't realized her grip on the cup had tightened when she thought of Schroeder, not until the water spilled over the side where a sharp spout had formed. She turned around, shoved the water logged cup into the hand of the person immediately behind her, and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. She shook her hand over the sink and caught sight of her reflection. Her brows were furrowed, all the more noticeable because of the glitter dusting one of them. She leaned forward and glared at the silver parasites, then raked her fingernail through the brow, pushing the short hairs up until it looked like she had a fuzzy caterpillar taking a nap above her eye. A quick examination of her finger showed she'd removed a good amount of it, which she promptly rinsed down the sink, or at least tried to. It was never going to come off, and there was still some on her face.

Typical. She'd only come to this stupid party to keep her parents, and her too astute sibling, from asking questions. She put down the toilet lid and sat, wrinkling her dress in the process.

She tipped her head to the side, wincing as her skull made contact with the wall, and sighed heavily. The school Christmas party last year hadn't exactly been a night to remember, at least not in the press-a-corsage-in-your-scrapbook kind of way. The Lucy she'd been last year had known what she wanted and had boldly gone after it, never expecting the outcome to be anything other than the one she'd fabricated in her mind. She'd obsessed over a certain dreamy young man for so long, it was hard to think of what would come next, but she'd done it. Instead of pursuing a boy who was clearly off limits, both because _she_ was not his type and because her brother most certainly _was,_ she had decided to refocus her efforts into her career. She was a take charge kind of woman, a leader. 

In other words, management material.

It was a natural fit for her personality and making it a reality had always appealed to her, during the times when she hadn't let foolish romantic notions occupy the forefront of her mind. During her junior year, she'd carefully researched colleges that offered a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration and that were reasonably close to music schools. Three hundred sixty-four days ago, she spent nearly as much time finding schools that with completely opposite criteria, and then still went ahead and applied to them all. In the end, she selected a school that was simply far enough away that she had to live on campus. She wasn't about to live at home where her brother and his quasi-boyfriend would undoubtedly be on the phone for long hours and she could avoid seeing dopey grins on Linus' stupid face. She'd endured more than enough the last few months of school, being witness to a relationship that she'd always imagined would be hers, and she'd even come to see that Schroeder really did seem to care for her little brother (something that was more important to her than she'd ever admit out loud). A fresh start was what she needed, around other educated minds who could keep up with her genius and her flawless logic.

The problem was that she quickly discovered how much she disliked everything that went along with a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration. The accounting rules made little sense to her; she disagreed with much of the behavior analysis for marketing (she had, after all, run a rather successful psychiatric business of her own); and she discovered that, unlike high school, college was overrun with other equally strong-willed women. Lucy found herself losing more battles than she won, whether it was a discussion with her classmates over a group project or with her dorm mates over everything from which movie to rent on Netflix to Boyfriend Rules, like how late was too late for boys to be in the girls' dorm, when did the single roommate need to get lost for a while, when it was okay to date a suitemate's ex (as late as they could get away with, when the white board on the door said "Do Not Disturb", and never). Worst of all, being around other smart, strong women made Lucy feel inadequate. Naïve. Stupid.

She sighed again. She had to go back to school in a couple of weeks, and she hadn't told her parents she was thinking of changing both her major and where she was pursuing it. She'd finish her freshman year and transfer the credits and hope that her parents would believe she was just feeling homesick.

A timid knock at the door made her jump.

 _“Scram!”_ she bellowed, feeling better than she had since she set foot in the house. It felt surprisingly good to do that. Lucy got to her feet, smoothed the back of her dress, and checked the mirror one more time. She ran a finger under her lower eyelid. Odd; she hadn't worn much eye makeup but the little she had was still smudged. She tore a bit of toilet tissue off the roll, wet it, and tried to repair the damage. She blew her nose for good measure, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Thankfully no one was outside waiting to use the bathroom (it was good to see she had still had some small sphere of influence somewhere in the world), and she glanced from left to right before heading toward the back door. She could slip from the backyard to her own house; when they were kids they'd done this all the time. She realized she'd forgotten her coat the moment she opened the door and felt the frigid air hit her, and she curled both hands into fists. Now she was going to have to go back in there and get it and it was getting close to midnight. This was the last place she wanted to be at the start of the New Year. She took a step back, bumping into someone and hearing a muted “oof” behind her.

She turned around and found herself staring at the ugliest tie she'd ever seen before looking up at Charlie Brown's sheepish expression. “Your coat,” he said lamely, holding it straight out, which meant it was behind her where she couldn't see it. She could still see that tie, though, dark blue with rhinestone snowflakes and sparkly champagne glasses and a couple of tiny colored blobs that resembled no object known to man. He draped it over her shoulders and she shoved her arms through the sleeves before heading back outside. He followed her, of course.

“Do you have a collection of these hideous things?” she asked when she got to the bottom of the steps. She flicked his tie so there was no question what she was talking about.

He picked up the end and looked at it upside down. “No. Just a few.”

“That's a collection, you blockhead.”

“Oh. Then yes.”

She pulled the edges of her coat close. She could still feel the cold on her legs but it was nothing she couldn’t handle for a little longer. 

“This is the worst party I've ever been to,” she informed him. 

He gave a half shrug. “Yeah, probably.” He actually sounded apologetic. She tamped down the twinge of guilt she felt.

“I mean, where are the plastic champagne glasses? Where are the noisemakers? Where's the music?”

He brightened then and reached into his jacket pocket. “Right here,” he said, and she half expected him to pull out a tiny champagne glass, probably with the stem missing. It was an iPod Touch instead, and he offered her one of the two ear buds.

“You've got to be kidding me,” she said, but she accepted it and placed it in her ear, only to yank it out immediately when the blaring music nearly deafened her.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, fussing with the touch screen. “I just got this for Christmas.”

She bit back a retort about finally getting with the times. “From your parents?”

He looked up from the iPod then. “From myself. I got it with my tip money.”

That's right. He was going to the local barber college, to follow in his father's footsteps. She'd thought he was stupid when he'd announced his intention last year, but after her first semester of business college, she thought maybe Charlie Brown was the smart one. “I thought you didn't get paid as a student.”

“We don't, but we do get to keep our tips.”

“Oh.”

“Okay, I think I've got it,” he announced, putting both buds in his ears. He nodded, took one out and handed it back to her.

She stared at it for a moment, then sighed and put it in her ear.

“This is Christmas music.”

“You can play Christmas music up until New Year's Day,” he protested,

“No, you can't. You can play winter music, like Jingle Bells and Walking in a Winter Wonderland, but you can't play The Christmas Song.” 

“This is still a Christmas party.”

“It's a New Year's Eve party!”

“It's a Christmas party on New Year's Eve,” he countered, grinning at her. “People have Christmas parties before Christmas all the time.”

It felt surprisingly refreshing to debate with someone whose arguments were so very flawed.

“Right. _Before_ Christmas. Not after. And not on New Year's Eve, because that makes it a New Year's Eve party!”

“That's also a Christmas party,” he replied promptly, looking as pleased as if he'd won.

“You're impossible,” she said, punching him in the arm.

He grabbed her wrist and slid his fingers to hers, gently prying open her fist. “Come on, this is our song.”

The fact that he thought they had a song surprised her enough that she let him get away with putting his other hand on her waist.

“I don't think so,” she said, glancing down at their feet and back up to his face. “I remember what happened the last time.”

“Come on,” he repeated, this time adding, “Please?”

She was too nice for her own good, because she sighed and gave him a small nod of her head.

His eyes were closed and he hummed along with the song as they danced around his backyard. It was only a matter of time before he stomped on her toes again, because he was Charlie Brown, and he was nothing if not predictable.

She was still waiting for the inevitable when he asked, “Can I ask you something?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

He let go of her hand and touched the back of his finger to her bottom lashes, where he caught a drop of moisture. This time the tears were from the cold air outside, but she had a feeling he'd noticed earlier.

“Nothing,” he said, returning his hand to hers. “I just...never mind.”

_Next year all our troubles will be miles away..._

How was this song still playing? It felt like she'd agreed to dance with him eons ago. She didn't expect the light brush of his lips against her cheek. “Well, uh, thanks for the dance.” He released her fingers. “And the, uh, kiss.”

He stepped back, leaving them connected by only the ear buds.

_Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow._

Ugh, he was so stupid. If there was one thing he was dependable at, it was making a complete disaster out of the simplest things.

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt, bunching the tie up with it. “Idiot,” she said, yanking him forward until his nose bumped into hers.

“This,” she said, releasing his shirt and cupping his face in her hands, “is a kiss.”

His mouth was soft and warm against hers, and she tentatively touched her tongue to his upper lip. His hands were under her coat and against her spine, making her shiver, and he surprised her by timidly sliding his tongue against hers.

“Lucy,” he whispered against her mouth. _”Lucy!”_

He took his time kissing her, gently, reverently, and when his tongue slipped between her lips, it skittered over the roof of her mouth, causing the fingers that had wandered around the back of his head to grip his hair tightly. French kissing wasn't gross and didn't make her gag the way the girls at school had led her to believe. 

When their lips finally parted, she realized it was snowing. That and the bitter cold explained the tears still clinging to her lashes and the rock hard nipples beneath her dress, the ones he was sure to feel, pressed against his chest as they were. The ear buds were dangling uselessly from his pocket but neither of them noticed that the music had stopped.

His hands were warmer against her back now, and she uncurled her fingers from his hair, dropping her hands to his shoulders. She licked her lips.

“What time is it?”

“What?” he asked, then he pulled one of his hands away to check his watch. Her back felt colder now that the warmth of his touch was gone.

“It's, twelve o'clock. So, uh, Happy New Year.”

“It's cold,” she announced. “I'd better get home.”

“I'll walk you,” he offered, even though they could see her backyard from where they stood. They both kept their hands in their pockets as they trudged across the yard, their shoulders brushing just once, and then they were at her back door. She climbed the two steps and tested the doorknob. It was unlocked, so they wouldn't need to go around to the front. She turned around.

He stood there with his hands still in his pockets, waiting to see that she was safely inside before he turned to leave. Her stomach gave a little twist, and she glanced down. The ear buds had apparently dragged the whole way, because they were coated with snow and ice. She hooked her finger under the cord and slid it to the end, until she had both buds in her grasp. She brushed them off the best she could and handed them back. He closed his hand over hers, leaned forward, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Happy New Year, Lucy,” he whispered, even though he'd said the same thing not two minutes ago. She nodded, feeling the tears spring up behind her eyelids again, and she went inside, leaning back against the door until she could hear his footsteps crunching through the snow as he returned home.

She touched her fingers to her lips and smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown.”


End file.
